


1953 - Patience

by howelleheir



Series: Unfinished Works [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelleheir/pseuds/howelleheir
Summary: Bits and pieces, scraps, scenes, and other unfinished works. Many stop mid-sentence, most never develop a plot. These are all pieces that I started at one point or another and then moved on to another work, another ship, another fandom, or just got too busy to work on anything, so they will likely never be finished, but some of them were fun, and some were even good, so I'm putting them all out there with the disclaimer that they are abandoned WIPs, and unless a particular piece gets a lot of love and re-sparks my interest, I have no intention of coming back to them. Various fandoms and genres, some pieces very porny, some downright objectionable. Tread with care and mind the tags.In this work: A young Alexander Pierce contends with Aleksander Lukin's stormy moods.
Relationships: Aleksander Lukin/Alexander Pierce
Series: Unfinished Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594933
Kudos: 2





	1953 - Patience

**Scarsdale, NY**

**October 1, 1953**

The house had been dark for seven days. It was always like this whenever Lukin came home from the cabin upstate. It was the fast after an excess of consumption, those sleepless weekends with their revolving door of business contacts and momentarily useful acquaintances, made malleable with liquor and cocaine and hired “entertainment”. 

Back at home, as soon as they crossed the threshold, he would retreat to his bedroom, exhausted and nursing a hangover. Alex used to see it as a blessing, a welcome reprieve from Lukin’s attentions, but as the years went by, it became an annoyance. The oppressive silence, which absolutely could not be interrupted, because Lukin was  _ working, goddamn it Sasha inconsiderate ungrateful stupid brat, _ the odd hours -- Lukin's heavy snoring at four o'clock in the afternoon and the manic clicking of his typewriter keys in the predawn -- the dishes piling up in the kitchen because Lukin had sent all the help away when he'd returned, and Alex would be damned if he was going to risk making a sound trying to clean up after what Lukin became in those times, less a man and more a malevolent spirit that drifted unseen from the space behind one locked door to another, rarely making its presence known, but casting a palpable and infectious gloom over the whole of the house. 

Except if Alex left a light on. Then all bets were off, in spite of the fact that Lukin's fortune could support every light on the property burning continuously for the next several dozen millennia -- Alex had once actually done the math at the bottom of one of Lukin's quarterly financial statements before shoving it back in the envelope, which had resulted in a screaming match that turned nastily physical. This point of contention had become so extreme in the past two years that Alex had grown adept at navigating the whole of the house in total darkness. He had a small raised scar just under his cheekbone to remind him why. His own bedroom was the only place it was consistently safe to switch on a lamp. Sometimes, he left it on out of spite while he slept.

Eventually, the storm would pass.

“Sasha.”

It was early morning. The voice called out softly from behind Lukin’s bedroom door, and Alex stopped mid-step in the hall, halfway between the bathroom and his own door, assessing the situation. Volume low, not angry. Diction clear, not drunk, and not only just freshly awake. Tone...apologetic?

“Yes?”

“Come in,” Lukin said. “I want to talk to you.”

Alex was almost relieved. An unlocked door and an invitation meant the phase was over, and this had been a bad one. Gingerly, he turned the brass handle, the dim light spilling out into the hall as he slipped into Lukin’s bedroom. Lukin sat in his robe on the edge of the chair by the window, lighting a cigarette. His beard had grown out to an unkempt snarl, framed by the week’s worth of stubble on either cheek and fading down his neck, his dirty hair fell in a jagged off-center part, and his eyes looked heavy and tired.

“May I?” Alex asked, gesturing to the cigarette case on the table as he perched on the windowsill. He barely waited for Lukin to nod before he popped open the case, the earthy scent of cloves filling the still air.

“I was thinking,” Lukin began, leaning forward to light Alex’s cigarette with the table lighter -- an ornate little silver piece that spouted a high flame with a soft hiss. “I’m meeting some people for lunch. I’d like for you to come with me.”


End file.
